Chapter 20
by jmsutherland
Summary: Smite falls for Lucy.


Page **14** of **14**

**Chapter XX**

Lance Constable Smite was a lover, not a fighter, or so his friend Patrick had told him. It wasn't that he couldn't fight, just that he didn't. Of course, his job meant that had sometimes to apply _necessary force_, but that was in _the service of the public trust_. Commander Carrot was attempting to change the motto of the City Watch to "_In rem publicam fidem" _from the less grand but far more accurate "_Fabricati diem, punc_" which was the current motto. If attacked he could and did defend himself, sometimes so well that his attackers could end up injuring themselves. But he didn't go around punching people, or kicking them, or stamping on their faces, or gouging their eyes, or elbowing them in the nose, or head-butting them, or kneeing them in the goolies… unlike most coppers. And he certainly didn't attack them with the effortless and near lethal grace that Patrick did.

The reason was that Smite was an Omnian and Omnians didn't fight, at least not since the Reformation of Brutha, and Smite was a true follower of Brutha. Of course, back in the days of The Quisition Omnians had been famous for fighting, indeed they'd done little else as they took the Word of Om to the unbeliever at the point of a sword, or any other sharp object that came to hand. In those days an Omnian would smite you as soon as look at you, and he wouldn't smite you with wisdom, not if could lay hands on the jawbone of an ass or the thighbone of a bullock. But the Old Ways were a fading memory, recalled now only in the lyrics of pre-Reformation hymns. Today's Omism was all about "peace on Disc, goodwill to all men, dwarfs, trolls, pixies, gnomes, goblins, banshees, werewolves, vampires, orcs, elves and other sentient beings."

And then there was love. Smite loved his fellow man even when, as was often the case, his fellow man wasn't terribly enamoured of him. He loved his little sister, Abominate, and he loved his mum, even though he didn't know her name. In his day parents didn't really have names. They referred to each other as _mother_ and _father_; the children called them _mum_ and _dad_ and that was it. Naturally, she would have told him if he'd asked, but by the time he got round to it he was of an age where it would have been too awkward and embarrassing to ask. So, _Mum_ she remained.

He still loved Shame, even though it was clear that she no longer cared for him. Patrick had turned her head, he thought –though it hadn't been his fault- but she'd also met Vlad since then and now, somehow, Smite just wasn't enough for her anymore. Still, it didn't matter anyway because Smite was neck over knees in love himself, abjectly and irredeemably so, with the girl from the butcher's shop.

Like most Omnians, Smite didn't really eat meat. It wasn't that it was forbidden, anymore than drinking alcohol was, it was just that Brutha hadn't done it and most Omnians followed Brutha. He'd only gone into Bernie's that morning because he'd been working a nightshift with Sergeant von Humpeding and she simply _had_ to have her breakfast.

Her face was easily the most beautiful he had ever seen: young, innocent and delicate. Smite was only twenty-one and thought that this girl couldn't have been more than eighteen but she gave him moths in his midriff from the very beginning. When she smiled at him, that wide, bright, beaming smile, his heart was lost. When she looked at him with those huge, brown eyes –that always seemed on the verge of tears- she had his soul too.

"You don't happen to know her name, do you?" he asked Sally when they were outside.

"Who, Lucy? The girl in the butcher's?"

"Yes, _Lucy_," he agreed, "a sweet name for a sweet girl."

"Yyyyeeeesss," agreed Sally, doubtfully.

"You don't think I'm too old for her, do you?" he worried.

"No," said Sally, raising her eyebrows, "on that point I can reassure you."

"I suppose she already has a boyfriend though, doesn't she?"

"Again, no, there is no young man in her life at present," said Sally, concerned about where this was going."

"That's strange," said Smite.

"You have no idea."

At the end of the street they went their separate ways. Smite to The Duck to ask Patrick what he should do; Sally back to The Yard to consult with Harry, and Vlad too, if he was around.

"Smite's fallen for Lucy," she told Captain Mudd and then bit into her raw steak.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry.

There was a long pause while she chewed twenty-two times before swallowing.

"Sally!"

"Sorry," she said, finally, "it's bad manners to talk with one's mouth full."

"As the seamstress said to the…"

"Don't go there," she cautioned.

"Ok," he conceded, "what's all this nonsense, though?"

"It happened ten minutes ago, in Bernie's. It was love at first sight."

"There's a pun to made there, I'm sure, but I just can't think of it."

"I'm sure it'll come to you," Sally laughed.

"But it's madness, obviously."

"Vot iz this madness?" asked Vlad, coming into Harry's office. Without knocking, Harry noted.

"Smite's in love with Lucy," said Sally.

"Do not be rrrrridiculous," laughed Vlad.

"That's what I said," said Harry, "but without rolling my 'r' halfway down the street."

"I swear it's true, as Blind Io is my witness."

"Are you doing this on purpose?!" asked Harry, querulously.

"What," smiled Sally, innocently.

"Anyvay," said Vlad, "this is in-sane."

On that point they were all agreed.

"Did you tell him?" Harry wanted to know.

"What!? That that the sweet, little girl he's so smitten with is actually a two hundred year old vampire, famous all across the Disc for her sadistic cruelty and sexual depravity? You know, actually, I didn't. I thought it might spoil the moment."

"But ve cannot permit zis," said Vlad.

"_Ve_? What have 've' got to do with it?" Sally demanded to know. "It's between the two of them."

"Do you think Lucy noticed?" asked Harry.

"Of course not. Lucy can't imagine anyone looking at her and seeing anything other than a monster."

"Well, somebody has to tell him."

"And then what?"

"And then let nature take its course."

"Oh, come on!"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Really?! Name one."

"Well, there was the time that whale turned in a bowl of petunias."

"Ok," Sally conceded, "I'll give you that one. However…"

"I vill not tell him," said Vlad.

"Coward!" Sally accused.

"Zis iz most zertainly true," he conceded.

"You work with him," Harry said to Sally.

"You're his boss," she retorted.

"I'm also yours, so I'm ordering…"

"Choose your next words very carefully, Herr Dreck und Messing," Sally interrupted, "they may be your last."

"…some takeaway food from the Klatchian deli," he concluded, lamely. "I just thought it would sound better coming from…"

"A woman?!"

"Someone who knows him. I wish you'd stop interrupting me."

"Ok, sorry. Yes, you're right," she admitted, "anyway it may be a moot point as he's off to talk to his friend about it."

"Who's his friend?"

"The barman from The Duck and Run."

"Which one?"

"The really, really handsome one."

"Oh, Patrick. That's a strange friendship, isn't it?"

"No stranger than someone who looks like Patrick working behind a bar,"

"Yeees, that _is_ a bit suspicious, maybe we should look into it."

"Anyway," Sally concluded, "we'll agree to say nothing about it for the moment, and no bad blood between us."

"Will you stop it!?"

"What?" Sally laughed.

"Right," said Harry, suddenly serious, "we have more important things to do at the moment."

"Like getting rid of zees damn flies," said Vlad, catching one between his fingers and squashing it.

"More important," Harry snorted.

"True," the others agreed

"So let's go and do them." They both moved towards the door. "And hey," he added, "let's be careful out there."

The Duck and Run was fairly empty, but it was only nine o'clock on a weekday morning and only really hardened alcoholics needed a drink that badly, oh, and cops. Patrick was behind the bar with Sheara, the barmaid from Fourecks. Blonde, buxom and biceps, as Sacharissa would have said. The first two are good for any barmaid, but the third is essential. Apparently, back home, she played something called Messy Rules Football.

"What's so messy about the rules?" he'd once asked Bruise.

"Nothing anymore mate, we got rid of 'em all."

Sheara certainly did pack a wallop; one that even Kate would have been proud of.

"What'll it be, mate?" she called out to Smite as he came through the door.

"I'll have a cold one," he shouted back. It was somehow difficult to be quiet around people from Fourecks.

The Duck was one of a growing number of bars that now served Frosters. This was a drink that Fourecksian immigrants had brought with them. It was a bit like beer but was lighter and had a clear, golden colour. It would get you drunk, eventually, if you drank an awful lot of it, however, it's major selling point, though, was that it was always served cold, whatever the weather. Patrick didn't know how it was done as the Brewer's Guild –motto: _Unam ad viam-_ guarded the secret very carefully and insisted on installing the necessary apparatus itself. He wondered if it used the same method as the Quirmians used for their white wine. Bruise, however, claimed it was all done by sheer chill power.

"There you go, mate," said Sheara, placing his drink on the bar, "blow the froth off that."

In his customary way Smite downed it in one and slapped the glass back down.

"Strewth!" she exclaimed, "that's a thirst you've got there, mate. D'ya want another?"

"Keep 'em coming," said Smite.

"Unusual to see you in at this time, bud," said Patrick. He was trying not to let Bruise and Sheara lead him into calling everyone _mate_, "Was it a tough night?"

"No, a new dawn. I'm in love."

"Oh, great," sighed Patrick. _Oh, not again!_ He thought.

Sheara put Smite's second beer down in front of him and he drained it the same way he had the first.

"More," he said, smacking his lips.

Sheara looked quizzically at Patrick, but he nodded that it was OK. It would take Smite about three days to get drunk on Frosters, however fast he drank them.

"So, who's the lucky girl this time?"

Smite fell in love with the same monotonous regularity as _The Post_ published anti-Omnian scare-stories, though not quite as frequently, and with far less success.

It wasn't as though he ever did anything about it. He would see a pretty face and fall for her, bum over brain. Then he would swoon and pine for a bit; until the next sweet smile, fluttered lash or dimpled cheek stole his heart away. Most of the girls never even noticed him and those that did just thought he was some weirdo looking at them in a funny way. As far as Patrick knew he'd never even spoken to them. His prospects were beyond hopeless.

"Do you know Bernie the Butcher?" asked Smite, taking just a mouthful of his third pint.

"Who doesn't?" This was a new turn, he thought.

"Well, it's the girl in there."

"What, Lucy?!" Patrick exclaimed.

"That's her," beamed Smite.

"Oh, for Offler's sake! Are you completely mad!?"

"Why, what's wrong!?" cried a stricken Smite.

"Oh, Great Om strike me down for my foolishness in befriending this worthless son of a… you do know she's a vampire, don't you?"

"No, she can't be, vampires are…"

"Stop!" Patrick commanded, holding up his hand, "whatever it was you were going to say, don't! Sgt. von Humpeding has ears everywhere."

"Oh, yes," said Smite, chastened, "good point."

"So, can we put this behind us? The sooner we can do that then the sooner we can move to the next hopeless case."

"No," said Smite, firmly, "I told you, I'm in love."

"The way you were with Betty from the baker's, Sharon from the shoe shop…"

"This is different."

"The way it was with Helen from the haberdasher's?"

"No, _really_ different!" insisted smite.

"Well, it does sound that way," Patrick had to admit, with a puzzled look on his face.

"So, what do I do next?"

"Aren't you listening to me? She's a vampire!"

"Don't vampires need love too?"

Patrick wasn't sure that they did, but if there was an exception it was probably Lucy. If anyone on the Disc needed to be loved, Lucy did.

"OK," he finally conceded, "then you'll need to ask her out on a date."

"Alright, how do I do that?"

"Ah, this is where it gets complicated," said Patrick. "The first thing you need to do is go up to her and say: would you like to go out on a date."

Smite waited for more detail, but none seemed to be forthcoming

"It's as easy as that!?"

"If it were difficult most of the races on the Disc would have died out long ago."

"Ok, but where do I take her?"

This was genuinely complicated. As far as Patrick knew Lucy didn't have any free time. She was too busy helping others or punishing herself. She didn't date, she didn't drink and she only ate food she didn't like. He'd thought of the Art Gallery, but then remembered that there was a large painting of the naked Donna Lucrezia in there, possibly more than one. The Museum was out as the Quirmian section contained a collection of instruments of torture that had been used by Lucy's family over the centuries. Possibly by Lucy herself. A walk in the park? If they did it at night they be attacked and though between them they could probably have fought off half of the Thieves Guild, neither of them would be prepared to do so. A walk during the day? Like many vampires Lucy had trained herself to be able to tolerate sunshine, but it wasn't pleasant for her. She might just be prepared to go for that one.

"Let me have a think about it," he concluded.

Patrick had a lot on his mind. For one thing, they'd had the cops round. There was nothing unusual about that, of course, the Duck was popular with cops, and other lowlifes and degenerates. And, on the surface, there was nothing to be concerned about. He'd seen Captain Mudd and Sergeant Ulyanov around often enough, in fact Harry had sometimes come into the pub before. Kate was behind the bar and they'd introduced themselves.

"Hello, my name is Mudd," Harry'd said, suggesting that this was official.

"Why, what have you done?" Kate had asked.

Harry had rolled his eyes in a way that suggested he wished he had a dollar for every time…

"And I am Prince Vlad," Ulyanov had oozed, giving Kate the kind of look that was frowned upon in polite society. It was not merely indelicate, it was positively lascivious. Now, Kate had pretty much seen it all, and probably done most of it too, so what had happened next had been astonishing. Not only had she blushed, but Patrick could have sworn he'd heard her giggle. She must have surprised even herself, because she'd visibly given herself a shake and then got down to business.

"Well, what can I get for you two gents on this beautiful morning? Would you like some…vine?" This latter question directed at Vlad.

"I do not drink…vine" said Vlad, playing to the gallery, "I vill haff instead some of your golden ambrosia."

"Ah, the Frosters, good choice on a hot day, and for you, Captain?" She'd obviously known who they both were from the start.

"The same," said Harry.

They'd chatted to Kate for a bit, drunk their drinks and left. Nothing to see here, move along. But Patrick had had the distinct impression that they'd been looking at him suspiciously. Of course the first thing a cop learned on his first day on the beat was how to look at everyone suspiciously, but if the Watch was taking an interest in him then others might be too, in which case it was five past time to move on. Except that he couldn't, because he loved Bliss and he'd never previously loved anyone in his life, not even his mum. Admittedly, she'd died in childbirth so there hadn't really been time for their relationship to mature, but this was a whole new feeling for him and he wasn't prepared to lose it, or her. Not that he had her at the moment, but things were looking up. He kept turning up at the hospital with some poor unfortunate that he'd "rescued" from a mugging, and each time he did she looked at him a little less unfondly. They were already back on speaking terms, she often smiled at him, and of course there had been the kiss.

The very next day she had made it clear that it was a mistake and that there would be no repeat of the unfortunate incident. But such a kiss was not so easily dismissed, nor forgotten. He had sworn to himself, and to Om, if he was listening, that when he had won her back that he would continue to save people from being mugged, only now he would do it before they actually got injured. And he was formulating a cunning plan.

It is a truth universally acknowledged throughout the multiverse that any policeman in possession of a half-decent personality must be in want of a nurse: something to do with how much time they spent in each other's company during the dark watches of the night, probably. Now, Lucy was only an auxiliary and spent most of her time cleaning and making beds. However, on occasion she was called upon to set bones, which she was very good at; possibly due to the huge number that she'd broken down the years. Smite had only just started on the nightshift but he'd still had ample time to ask her out, without showing any indication of ever actually doing so.

To be fair, Lucy did keep smiling at him and every time she did he was like a small, long-eared herbivore frozen by something very bright. Of course, even Patrick thought Lucy's smile was a thing of wonder and was glad that these days it was only being used for good. Bliss had assured him that it had remarkable healing powers, especially on old men. His sneaky plan was to enlist Bliss's help in getting Lucy and Smite together and he'd thought of a picnic. It would seem innocent enough to Bliss –not like he was trying to get back together by getting her drunk or anything. Lucy might go for it because it would be outside in the sunshine so she wouldn't be able to enjoy it. Smite would like it because he would be in Lucy's company without the responsibility of actually having to do anything. It was a plan so cunning that it was like a fox that's been appointed Professor of Cunning at Unseen University. It was perfect, what could possibly go wrong. Well, pretty much everything, but he was going to give it a try anyway.


End file.
